


Knight in Shining Lingerie

by Just_A_Little_Kail



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Alfie in danger, Alfie tied to a chair, Bloodlust, D/s undertones, Dark Humor, Dominant Alfie, Established Relationship, F/M, Little One, Love, Rescue Missions, Saved by his wife, Sexual Tension, Shameless Smut, Size Kink, Snarky Alfie, Violence, Wife of a Gang Leader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:22:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24185842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Just_A_Little_Kail/pseuds/Just_A_Little_Kail
Summary: Alfie’s tired of Changretta’s presence in his territory, so naturally he steals a shipment of supplies to send a message. Changretta takes Alfie hostage with full intent to kill the snarky-mouthed gang leader.Luckily Alfie’s unassuming wife, Evelyn, is there to save the day; but not in the way you’d think. Violence, blood and shameless smut ensue.Prequel to this story is up! “A Tale of Love and Crime.”
Relationships: Alfie Solomons/Original Character(s), Alfie Solomons/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 66





	Knight in Shining Lingerie

**Author's Note:**

> This story has been circulating in my head for a while, so I finally put it to paper! Alfie’s too great a character to NOT have a romantic interest, so I made my own. 
> 
> It’s originally a one-shot, but if the characters resonate with the readers, I might turn it into a story! Let me know if you want more :)

The dim light of the only basement window cast a shadow against Alfie’s tired face, the silence accentuated by the faint sound of a dripping pipe in the corner. He’d been here for what felt like days, but realistically it had only been a few hours. By his guess, and the consistent drip that had synced up with his heartbeat, he’d say five or six, at most. Aside from the slight burn of rope against his wrist and ankles, he only felt one thing: boredom.

“Y’a know, mate, I’m a bit surprised at your lack of manners. Changretta must teach you somethin’ about accomodatin’ a guest, don’t he?” Alfie shifted a bit in the rickety wooden chair he’d been tied to upon entering the basement. His day had turned into nothing but discomfort, shifting his weight between sides every few minutes since a good amount of his body was not supported by the seat. “And he couldn’t even get me a chair I fuckin’ fit in. Some of us lads’ ain’t as petite as you Italians. You may not need it, but a chair meant for a bloody man would be nice right about now.” 

The guy sitting in an identical chair, next to the only door in the room, grunted his displeasure. He didn’t know how he was assigned the unpleasant job of babysitting the mouthy Jew. The two had met a few weeks prior, which ended in one dislocated shoulder and extreme alcohol poisoning. The last place he wanted to be was in the same room as Alfie Solomons. His weaning patience acted as the only barrier between him and his simmering anger from the constant little jabs Alfie had been throwing at him. Don’t engage was the only order he received. He wasn’t to touch, talk or even glance at the Jewish leader. Changretta wanted him to be riled up and fuming with impatience before they spoke. He wanted even more of an excuse to shoot the fucker in the mouth to stop him from speaking more obscenities against his crowd of Italian-American gangsters. 

It was working. Alfie was showing the beginning signs of frustration for being ignored for such a long amount of time. He was used to commanding a room with his rough baritone voice. “Oi, you deaf over there or did Changretta cut your tongue out for tryin’ to suck his cock?” 

The guy in the corner bristled, his hand visibly flexing as he tried to keep his instincts at bay. Don’t engage, he repeated in his head. He purposefully shifted his coat just enough for Alfie to see the pistol sitting snug in its side holster. 

“You’re a simple one, aren’t ya?” Alfie said, perturbed at the lack of conversation. As a man who always spoke his mind no matter what company was in his presence, he was used to causing negative responses. In his business emotions were kept at bay. Any outrage just opened the door to sloppy mistakes. Actions taken from instinctive reactions never had a diplomatic result, which is exactly what Alfie was counting on. That was loads better than the silent treatment he was currently on the receiving end of. 

“He’s not simple, he just follows orders. Isn’t that right, Scottie.” Alfie’s head snapped to the door, which now stood open revealing a smirking Luca Changretta flanked by one of his loyal soldiers. “I kept thinkin’, what’s the worst form of punishment I can put on you. Torture? That’ll come later. Maybe finding someone you love to use against you? That would take too much work and I’m quite an impatient man, Mr. Solomons.” His heavy New York accent passed through Alfie’s ears like sludge through a drain pipe. 

He shifted again, the lower-left side of his body now numb from lack of circulation. “So you decided to strap me to a child’s wicker chair, then?” 

Changretta stalked forward like a famished tiger finding a meal. Though his stance was rather casual, both hands in the pockets of his expensive trousers, his mind was racing with the possibilities of having his rival at his mercy. Weeks ago, Changretta had hoped that an alliance was in the works. He needed Alfie to get to Tommy Shelby, after all. He soon realized that the Jew brought more trouble than he was worth. 

“Not all of us are the size of a fucking bear,” Changretta replied with an ease that almost betrayed his excitement. 

“Now now, Mr. Changretta, that’s what they call a low-blow, ain’t it.” He moved to place his hand on his chest in a mocking manner, before realizing once again that they were tied behind his back. Changretta saw the attempt and sucked it in with a smile. 

“Scottie,” Changretta said, looking towards the boy sitting in the corner of the room. His eyes flicked to his boss, almost honored that he was known enough for Changretta to remember his name. He was one of the new kids trying to prove his worth. “Guard the door. Make sure we’re not disturbed.” He stood quickly from the chair, righting his jacket and then dutifully following the boss’s orders. 

“Nice to meet ya, lad,” Alfie said, voice carrying into the hallway after Scottie. “Go guard the door like a good dog, eh’? Maybe your master will give you a treat if ya’ do a good enough job.” Alfie honestly couldn’t help it. The only semblance of entertainment was trying to get a reaction out of the poor guy. Stupid, but better than letting the silence and imminent pain encompass his feelings. 

In the face of his impending death, Alfie’s only defense mechanism was his words. They flew like bullets out of his mouth, usually hitting the target exactly as he hoped. And Scottie wasn’t any different. He gripped the door with both hands, as it was the only palpable barrier keeping him from beating the Jew’s teeth out of his snarky mouth. 

The door closed quickly, but the echo lingered throughout the damp basement, bouncing off the walls in a manner that taunted Alfie with both freedom and imprisonment. The light outside was quickly waning as the sun set, making the shadows on the floor get longer and crawl up the water-stained wall like they were auditioning for a nightmare. The sky looked ablaze with reds and oranges that blended into the thin clouds floating with the wind. 

Changretta cleared his throat and started pulling his jacket off. The man behind him took the clothing while placing a pistol in Changretta’s free hand. Alfie watched as Changretta placed the gun lazily in the waistband of his pants before rolling up both sleeves. 

“You mean business, don’t ya?” Alfie shifted again, trying to get some more blood flow to his legs. If he moved quickly, he could stand and use the chair to his advantage. It would be a hard fight, with two against one, not to mention young Scottie waiting outside the door ready to jump in as soon as he heard a struggle. But Alfie would rather die in action than sitting like a fly stuck in syrup as Changretta had his way. 

“The chair’s cemented to the ground. It’s not going nowhere, friend,” Changretta said softly, with an underlying hatred leaking through his teeth. Alfie was right where he wanted him. Power radiated off both men in a silent standoff reminiscent of western gunfights. Changretta finally felt like he had someone important in his clutches, a breath away from him yet no one to hide behind, even though Alfie was never the kind of man to hide behind anyone. His pride always stood in front of his fear. 

“Seein’ as there’s no way for me to walk out of here quietly,” Alfie replied, “you mind tellin’ me what this bloody shit is all about, yeah?” 

Changretta nodded to the silent man behind him, who moved to a dingy cabinet in the corner. He pulled the handle, only causing the entire cupboard to shake. A more forceful pull only made it wobble. Alfie could see the frustration building on the guy’s face. 

“Jesus Christ,” Changretta sighed, “Do I have to do every fuckin’ thing by myself?” He strolled over to the closet and pushed the man aside. “See, Mr. Solomons, you’re a lot like this here cabinet. You’re holding on to some valuable information that I need, but you’re not very easy to open.” 

Changretta kicked the cupboard with the heel of his Italian leather shoes, metal warping to the shape of his foot. Alfie knew he would be on the receiving end of such a violent kick unless he found a way out. As soon as he was free of the retraints, and his legs were fucking working again, he would kick Changretta’s nose to the back of his head and revel in the crunch of his fragile bones. Till then, he could only watch Changretta rip the damaged door off the hinges and reveal what was inside. 

Changretta reached a hand in, exaggerating the sound of metal being pushed around. He pulled out a butcher’s knife, trails of dried blood stained the blade, showing its age. It’s metallic shine was long gone, covered by a generous coating of copper rust. 

“See how easy it is for me to get what I want?” he said, teasingly. 

Changretta ran a fingertip across the blade, accentuating it’s dullness and lack of upkeep. The edges were far from sharp, which meant it took more effort to cut through skin. More effort, more pain. In fact, amidst all the new blades he’s acquired over the past few weeks, he purposefully chose this one. Just as women saved extravagant dresses for special occasions, Changretta had put aside his dullest blade with the hopes of it slicing into Solomon’s skin like a spoon cutting into a rare steak. 

Alfie saw the look in his eye. It was a long-awaited special occasion, indeed. 

Great, Alfie thought. Just bloody, fuckin’ great. 

“You see, Mr. Solomons,” Changretta began, “you stole from me. In fact, you stole quite a lot from me.” His tone was one that a friend would use in casual conversation, like they had run into each other walking along the sidewalk on a sunny day. “I don’t like when people steal from me, friend.” Changretta reached into his pocket and fished out a toothpick. Sticking it between his teeth, he chewed on it for a few seconds before looking back at his hostage.

Alfie knew this was coming someday, he just thought he’d be the one to initiate it.

The past few weeks, Changretta’s gang has been relatively dormant, hanging out in safe houses and underground shelters to hide from Thomas Shelby’s prying eyes before their assassination plan had fully taken shape. 

Now, Alfie wasn’t one to have many friends. That was one of his faults, or at least that’s what he was told. Friends are loose ends he would always say. The more people he had in his inner circle, the more minds could be persuaded against him. And once minds were poisoned, they were considered gone. 

So when he noticed a young boy hanging around the bakery, looking for work, his antenna went up. He told Ollie to keep an eye out for the kid, refusing to even learn his name. It wouldn’t matter if he had to kill him anyway. What’s the point in putting a name to yet another dead body tied to the gang. Alfie was tough, dangerous, even malicious. But he wasn’t cold. His conscience was buried deep beneath the layers of greed and bloodlust, yet it was still there. No matter how much he tried to turn it off, the nagging feeling in his gut was ever present. He chalked that up to his wife. 

Alfie received a call late one night from Ollie. The phone rang incessantly, even after minutes of Alfie ignoring it. When he finally dragged his creaky body from bed, and the slender, warm arms that grasped onto him each night, he grabbed the receiver and shoved it to his ear. 

“Wha’ the fuckin’ hell is going on?” He heard a few thumps, most likely Ollie dropping the phone from the tone of Alfie’s voice. The boy was his right hand, a shaky and rather nervous one, but he always got the job done.

“Sorry to wake you, Sir. We have an issue at the bakery.” Alfie grunted at Ollie’s hurried tone, glancing at his wife as she rolled over to escape the sound threatening to disrupt her dream. “The young boy you hired last week, I found him looking through files in your office.” 

“Wha’ the fuck is he lookin’ for?” Alfie tried to keep his level low and covered the mouthpiece with his hand to muffle the sound. He cleared his throat as quietly as possible, still rough with sleep. 

“I don’t know, Sir. He hasn’t seen me yet, thinks he’s still alone. I thought I’d ask you what the best course of action is.” Ollie mimicked the whisper, as he, too, was trying to keep his voice from carrying across the bakery and alerting the unwelcome guest. 

“Righ,” Alfie replied, feeling a little bit guilty for yelling at Ollie when he was just looking out for him. He ran his hand across his face. “I’ll be there soon. If he tries to leave, grab him. Give him some idiot task to do, make it seem important.” 

“Yes, Sir.” Alfie imagined Ollie nodding his head obediently. 

“Oh, Ollie?” Alfie said, stopping Ollie before he hung the phone and kept a look out. “What the fuck are you doin’ at the bakery this early in the mornin’?”

“I felt like something was off, Sir,” Ollie replied. “Miriam's at her mum’s with the children anyway, so it’s no bother.” Ollie was the epitome of a loyal worker. He was like a mirror that saw all of Alfie’s blind spots when his boss was too busy to notice. It was technically the longest relationship Alfie’s ever had. He doesn't dare tell his wife, though. He likes his balls just the way they are. 

“I’ll be down soon.” He hung up the phone and took a minute to bow his head in frustration. The nameless boy was asking for it. Only a suicidal fool would wake him at home. 

Alfie moved stiffly to his dresser, pulling out a simple shirt and trousers, plus his vest that conveniently hid his sidearm from the view of a passerby. 

“Where are you going?” The voice behind him rang out through the silence, sweet and easy. Evelyn’s voice never startled him. He could be concentrating on documents or trying to tiptoe through the silent house late at night, and her voice never caused him to jump.

It never came out of nowhere, the place most sounds come from. It came from her, Evelyn, his home, covering him in a blanket of reassurance amidst his unpredictable business. 

Alfie looked at her sweet face, shadows dancing across her cheekbones as he turned towards her. Those big brown eyes he loved so much seemed nearly black in the dimly lit bedroom, squinting just enough to see him while adjusting to the light on the dresser. 

“Ollie called from the bakery. I have to take care of somethin’ quickly.” He watched her mouth slowly curve into a pout. Sitting back on the bed, he turned towards his little wife and reached a hand towards her cheek. “None of that, now. I’ll be back for breakfast, luv.” 

Evelyn crossed her arms beneath her breasts, causing them to lift together in a way that made Alfie want to disregard the business and stay in bed. She huffed, shaking her head. “I’m going to give Ollie a piece of my mind next time I see him. Dragging my husband out of bed, does he have no sense of fuckin’ decorum?” 

Alfie felt his eyebrows lift up, eyes playfully open wide. “Look at the mouth on you! Where the hell’d you learn that?” he asked, teasingly. He smiled when he saw her dimples slowly form in the middle of her cheeks. “I knew you were a firecracker but didn’t realize I married a fuckin’ soldier.” 

“I’m the one who married an army captain,” Evelyn replied. 

“Yeah, you did, so follow his fuckin’ orders, stay in bed and I’ll come wake you when I’m home.” Alfie’s tone left no room for arguments. She always marvelled at the way he could go from sweet to stern so quickly. It made her squirm in the best way possible. 

“If you have any scratches on you, I’m beating Ollie myself,” she said. Alfie believed her too, knowing she had more of a backbone than most of the men in his business. She rightfully held the coveted position as the boss’s wife and spent every day proving to herself, and the dirty underworld, that she belonged there. 

“I’m sure he’d be a happy man, at that. He blushes like a fuckin’ schoolgirl every time he sees you,” Alfie said. He’s always been a possessive man, not willing to share his meals let alone his wife’s time with anyone else. Though Ollie never posed a threat, he still commandeered her too much of her conversation. 

“Yeah, then I’ll beat your arse for getting hurt in the first place.” 

He pulled his suspenders up and over his shoulders, tightening the straps and snapping them into place. Eveleyn loved that sound, for it reminded her of the many times Alfie took the elastic material to the sensitive skin of her behind. The thought made her cheeks flush pink, Alfie sending her a knowing smirk at the sight. 

“What did I do to deserve you, luv?” His question was answered with a pillow to the face. “Oi! You got some muscle on you, eh? Careful with those, I’m gettin’ old. Can’t take a hit like I used to.” 

Alfie looked back when his wife didn’t reply. She had a resigned, but anxious look on her face. There weren’t many things that made him a bad husband, in his eyes. But when he saw those looks, the ones that made him wish he could give up his business so he never had to cause her worry, his guilt ate him up inside. Reality always sets in, and he deals with the aftermath of his actions on a daily basis. 

“I’ll be fine, little one. I always come back, yeah?”

Her strained smile eased and gave him the silent permission he never asked for, but accepted every time. He stood from the bed after tying his laces and collected his things. 

“You have your gun?” she asked, already knowing the answer. There was never a day Alfie went without one. But it made Evelyn feel better knowing it was there. 

“Yes, luv,” he said, lifting the gun from the table and making sure his wife watched as he carefully placed his favorite revolver in the waistband of his pants. “You got yours?” 

His wife opened the drawer nearest bed and pulled the black piece into her hand. “Got it.” 

“Stick it under your pillow, keep hold of it. Shoot to kill.” Alfie walked over to her side, grabbing hold of both her cheeks in his palms. “Just make sure you don’t shoot me when I come back, alright? Don’t need another bullet hole.” 

She stuck her tongue out at him playfully, and he took the opportunity to lean down and gently nibble it. She jumped with surprise and gently shoved him with a laugh. “Crazy man,” she giggled lightly, watching him smile and walk through the doorway. When the front door echoed shut a few moments later, she grasped the gun a little tighter before closing her eyes once more.

Ollie had been right, the boy had no idea that his snooping had been discovered. By the time Alfie arrived at the bakery, his right hand man was anxiously standing near the side door awaiting orders from his boss. 

“He’s finishing up, I think.” 

“Go home. I’ll handle it from here.” Ollie kept his feet firmly planted, opening his mouth to argue. “Really, Ollie, I’ve got it. Go home. Enjoy a few more hours away from those fuckin’ children that keep you up all night, yeah? Fuckin’ monsters, they are.” 

Ollie smiled. He knew how much ‘Uncle Alfie’ loved his, albeit rowdy, children. He’d been involved since the moment the first babe was born, more so now that he was married. The mere sight of children used to have him running to the opposite side of the city, but the years have made him grow soft towards the rascals. 

“Call me if you need me to come back-” 

“Fuck off, mate.” Alfie waved his hand dismissively at the young man before turning on his heel and making his way through the bakery door, the sound of his heavy steps bouncing off the brick walls. 

The inside of the building was nearly pitch-black. The only source of light was flooding out from under his office door. Alfie stayed in the shadows, taking note of the loud and careless movements from behind the door. Inexperienced, Alfie thought. Certainly not used to spying. The boy had about as much grace as a tugboat trying to squeeze through a canal. He could only imagine how the lad would fare in the war, trying to maneuver a field of landmines. The image was justified when he heard a paperweight roll off the desk, followed by a loud noise as it made contact with the rug below. “Damn,” he heard the boy mumble. It was almost comical, Alfie thought, this poor boy trying to snoop but running into every object that could possibly make noise. Almost funny. Alfie could spot a novice from a mile away. His sudden movements followed by a few seconds of stillness to make sure no one heard. 

This business was built on balls, and the older you are, the bigger your balls get. This boy, unfortunately, had none. The nerves were practically spilling out of his body and into his shaky hands. He didn’t yet understand the difference between snooping and gathering intel. Stupid, stupid boy. 

The kid didn’t realize he was caught until he was halfway out the office, engulfed in the oversized shadow of Alfie, arms crossed and pistol hanging haphazardly from his hand. 

“Find everything you need, lad?” Alfie leaned against a nearby support pole, his head slightly hidden in the shadows. All it managed to do was emphasize his overbearing presence and frighten the boy into a panic. 

“Mr. Solomons-”

“Can I help you at all? I can draw you a fuckin’ map of all the important documents. Or maybe I should just hand you the bloody papers and wave as you walk into the fuckin’ sunrise.” 

“I was-”

“Puttin’ your sticky fingers on my property.” Alfie shoved out of his position and began walking towards the shriveling boy in front of him. 

“I, I’m sorry-” The fingers that held stolen paperwork quickly gave way and let the items fly onto the floor. Alfie stopped to grab one, pulling his glasses from his pocket so he can recognize what document was being taken from the confines of his office. 

It took him a few seconds, but he realized the paper was part of a contract. A contract with Tommy Shelby. He picked up a few more papers, all to do with his dealings with the leader of the Peaky Blinders. Meeting times, business associates and conditional clauses were scattered across the papers in black ink. 

“Why’re you interested in my business with Tommy Shebly?”

The boy remained silent, trying to discreetly look for the nearest exit. He’d rather die trying to escape then willingling submit in the clutches of the Wandering Jew. He had been briefed on the overall temperament of the gang leader and didn’t want to test the limits even more than he already had. Alfie noticed the fight or flight instinct kicking in and grabbed the boy's arm before he could move away. 

“Tell me who you work for,” he demanded, his grip on the boy tightening every second the question remained unanswered. 

“They’ll kill me,” he replied, breath shaky and body unstable. 

“Believe me, boy, I can do a hell of a lot worse.” Alfie put his hand on the boy’s shoulder while pulling back on the arm. The boy’s face cringed in discomfort that quickly soared to agony as his arm and shoulder were dislocated with a soft, yet sharp pop. “Tell me who you work for before I dislocate the other.” Alfie moved his hands to the boy’s other arm. As the pain started to set in, he finally broke. 

“Please, stop, stop-” 

“I need a name, lad.” 

“Changretta, Changretta!” Alfie immediately halted his movements and dropped the boy from his grip. He took a few steps back from Alfie, leaning against the wall of the office trying to catch his breath. 

“Changretta, yeah? That Italian cockroach scamperin’ around London, makin’ my life more fuckin’ difficult then it bloody needs to be.” Alfie moved his hand to brush through his beard, trying to think of the best way to navigate this situation. “You’re part of his little group, right?” 

The boy nodded. “Yes, yes, I just started.” 

Alfie let out a laugh. “No shite, lad. You’re mad awful a’it too.” He grabbed the nameless boy by his good arm and dragged him over to a nearby table. Switching on a single light, Alfie moved across the room to grab two empty glasses and a bottle of the brown rum they made at the “bakery.” Approaching the boy, he slammed the items on the table and poured two drinks. 

“You like rum, boy?” Alfie asked, only getting a shaken head in return. “Too bad.” Alfie shoved the second glass at his unwilling companion. The boy looked hesitant, gripping the cup but remaining motionless like he was posing for a portrait. He lifted the amber liquid to his lips with a shaky hand, the rum nearly spilling over the rim. Alfie placed his fingers beneath the glass and pushed up so the liquor would fall into his mouth. The glass thudded back to the table, muffled by the boy’s coughing fit that felt like lightning strikes against his throat. 

“You still look thirsty, how about another.” It wasn’t a question. Alfie refilled the boy’s glass, his own remaining untouched. The process continued another four times before the boy’s body began to sway back and forth in a drunken stupor. Alfie’s figure became a blur of moving limbs, his voice becoming mere sounds with no meaning attached. 

“Lightweight,” Aflie said. Evelyn had more tolerance to liquor than this boy did, though he always teased her that she had a hollow leg. It was the only explanation for the quantity she was able to ingest. She was a freak, that one. Small as can be, but could nearly drink her husband under the table. 

Taking his own untouched glass, Alfie poured the liquid onto the floor in a steady stream. He didn’t drink that shit. Everyone knew the white rum was better. 

The boy was babbling about something on the floor, having tumbled from his balance, or lack thereof. Alfie picked him up with ease, threw him over his shoulder and began walking out of the bakery. Unlike the boy’s ill-fairing attempt to gather information on the Jew, Alfie was a pro. As they say, alcohol is truth serum. The poor boy fell right into Alfies trap. 

“Lad, where’s Changretta stayin’ in London?” The boy’s head bounced with Alfie’s long gait through the doors and onto the street. 

“Dunno,” he slurred back. 

“Are they planning on making a move on Thomas Shelby?” 

“Dunno,” he repeated, cheeks turning flush from the blood rushing to his head. 

“Bloody hell, boy. You good for anything?” Alfie opened the passenger door of his car, dropping the him in like a sack of flour. He immediately slumped into the seat, making it easy for Alfie to lift the boy’s legs past the door and into the car. Getting in on the other side, Alfie started the car and pulled onto the empty streets. The sun was just starting to rise, illuminating the sky into a sea-blue shade. 

The boy opened his eyes, looking peacefully unaware of his situation.“I-I unload at the docks,” he said slowly, emphasizing every consonant so his companion could understand. Alfie was surprised with the unprompted information, but took advantage.

“Where, in London?” he asked, his tone unobtrusive but still carefully treading a line of curiosity. 

“No, with the birds.” Alfie briefly wondered if he had shoved too much alcohol down the boys throat. He needed to at least be coherent in order for Alfie to get anything valuable out of him. 

“What?” 

“The name, it’s a bird. A yellow bird that used to sing outside my window when I was little.” 

Fuckin’ bird? Where do they keep birds in London. But then there was that town over…

“You mean Canary Wharf?” 

“The yellow bird!” 

The Italians are not at home here. That’s why they hid in the cracks and crevices of the city, where only the grime and dirt of society resided. But they could only survive as long as they got their supplies. Alfie had assumed that Changretta was using the London ports as a shipment checkpoint for all his supplies. Their business survived off the cargo from America. And now he knew where these shipments were landing, just a few towns over from London, right on the river. 

After realizing that the boy had fallen into an inebriated sleep, Alfie handed him over to the police, claiming that he had been drunkenly roaming the streets looking for the whorehouse. Initially the plan was to put a bullet through his forehead and throw him into a pile of scrap metal at the nearest factory. But he knew the look Evelyn would give him if she heard he murdered such a young kid. She was t wrong. He was just a kid. The boy probably wouldn’t remember a thing. Even if he did, Changretta’s gain would just pass it off as a drunk’s fable anyway. 

That didn’t stop Alfie from regretting not killing him. Cause that same kid now had a name. Scottie. 

Within a week, Alfie had compiled a group of criminals to intercept the newest shipment from America and leave them with practically no ammunition to terrorize his city with. He didn’t do it for Tommy Shelby, but it served to strengthen their alliance. 

Alfie didn’t know how Changretta had found out he was the one to take his supplies, though it probably didn’t take much asking around. When that amount of weaponry goes missing, someone is bound to talk. Which is how Alfie ended up tied to a chair in a grungy basement, with an angry mob leader breathing down his throat. 

“I don’ recall stealing anything of yours.” Alfie egged him on, asking for a reaction. 

“You sure about that?” Changretta spat his toothpick at Alfie, watching it bounce and roll down his legs. 

“Quite sure. I simply took what was bloody mine to begin with, yeah?” 

“It wasn’t yours,” 

“I beg to differ,” Alfie said, in a matter-of-fact tone that left no room for argument.

“Two weeks ago, a shipment of gunpowder, bullets and firearms arrived in the Canary port, meant to be transported by my men. I’m sure there’s a logical reason as to why it ended up in Camden.” 

“Not anyone’s fault if it ended up in the wrong truck, mate.” Changretta kept his anger inside, but Alfie noticed the way he ground his teeth. All it did was give the Jew even more reason to keep talking. “I once ordered a fortune worth of explosives and what arrived was enough fuckin’ french lingerie to clothe all the whores of London. It wasn’ the worse thing though. My wife made use of it.” 

“Charming comparison.” 

“Yeah, the difference is, right,” Alfie said, lowering his voice like he was telling a secret, “that I got my bombs in the end while you were left with nothin’.”

With a look to his associate and a short nod, Changretta gave the order. “Leave the face, it needs to be recognizable so they can identify the body later. I want Shelby to know what to expect.” 

The guy cracked his knuckles before raining down punch after punch into Alfie’s core. At first it felt uncomfortable, but after multiple blows to the same rib, Alfie began to give into the pain and embrace it full-on. After countless hits and petty jabs to the sides of his body, the man took a step back. Alfie made an effort to show Changretta the hits didn’t accomplish what they were meant to. Even so, he wasn’t immune. His breathing hitched if he took a breath too deeply, or if he shifted in a way that further aggravated his obviously-bruised ribs. 

But Alfie refused to be demoralized. Not until he was lowered into the ground. He opened his mouth and took a pained breath before groaning. “I hope your money was on him, Changretta. Even though he had an unfair advantage.” 

Changretta shook his head and took a step back. “Everything is a joke to you, isn’t it.”

“See that’s your problem, mate. You take yourself too seriously, yeah? If you took your head out of your own fuckin’ asshole, maybe you’d be able to see when it’s time to stick your rat tail between your legs and go back to your own bloody country.” 

Alfie shifted in his chair. This time though, he moved forward, leaning into his enemy like he was cooing over a child. Changretta could see the tension in Alfie’s muscles suddenly relax into the movement, embracing the pain. The guard instinctively went for his gun, slowly walking to Alfie’s back so he was covered from both sides. Noticing the change in positions, Alfie smirked beneath his beard, cheeks pulled up just enough to give Changretta the chills. He loved the attention. 

“You see, Changretta. Luca, if I may, cause your last name is fuckin’ impossible for any sane man to pronouce. You, and your rat pack of American bastards, are causin’ mayhem in my territory. I gave you a warnin’, didn’t I? Nice and easy, but the language barrier must be too fuckin’ thick and the simple words I’m sayin’ ain’t hittin’ their mark, yeah? So you come here, you decided to ignore my word and then become fuckin’ leeches on my bloody business. Let me tell you somethin’ Changretta. You Americans all think you’re a big deal when you come ‘ere. New land, new opportunities… old vendettas. Whatever the reason, it don’ mean a fuckin’ thing to me. Cause all I see when I look at you is a bunch of rats swimming to shore. My fuckin’ shore. So when you not only come here, and then decide to start making a fuckin’ mess, yeah? A mess that I have to fuckin’ clean up, I get mad.” 

Changretta approached Alfie, like a snake closing in on a mouse. “You stole our ammo.” 

Alfie shrugged as much as his shoulders allowed. “You put it through my port. I can do whatever the fuck I want with it.” 

The American boss looked at his hostage, wondering why Alfie would show such blatant disrespect to the man who’s going to be responsible for his death. 

“You want to start a war,” Changretta said.

“I highly doubt that, mate,” Alfie’s grinned. “How’re you goin’ to win a war with no ammo?” 

Checkmate. 

Though the sun had been long gone, and the only light came from the street lamps flickering outside, Alfie’s smile was visibly plastered on his face. Changretta’s anger continued to peak from the obvious mocking tone of his words. His patience had expired minutes ago. In America, things were done differently. There was no small talk. No time for explanation. It was solely pain. The moment Changretta had the blade in his hands, he became the only one allowed to talk. 

Changretta thought he knew Alfie. They were both the same men, driven by ambition, greed and power, haunted by the need for revenge. So it was in that moment when Changretta realized they weren’t exactly the same. Changretta had missed the one small thing, one little, nagging fear that separated the two gangsters into different worlds.

The American feared death. 

Alfie Solomons did not. 

“I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but my city ain’t gonna be hospitable to you no more. And Luca, mate, I think you’ve overstayed your welcome.” 

It was a peculiar phenomenon, watching as the only man deemed defenseless absorbed all the power from the other’s lack of ambition. The time it took for the men to react to his words was like an injection that refueled his confidence and gave him the higher ground. Changretta’s anger simmered on the top of his tongue, yet no response was deemed worthy enough. 

Alfie had rendered them speechless. 

Changretta took the final steps towards his target, ready to forcibly end this encounter with as much blood as possible. 

“I’m sorry, but there seems to be room for only one of us here.” 

“Couldn’t agree more.” Alfie smiled morphed into a wince as Changretta grabbed his hair and tugged it back to expose his neck. 

“I vote for me, friend.” 

“I think it has to be unanimous, don’ it?” 

Changretta lifted the dull butcher's knife to Alfie’s neck, just below the scruff on his jaw, watching his throat light up with goosebumps from the cold metal. The skin began to give into the pressure of Changretta’s hand, nipping, biting and then cutting. Alfie felt the warm blood begin to trickle to his collarbone as Changretta prepared to drag the knife from ear to ear. 

“Boss!” Scottie hesitantly opened the door and peeked his head into the room. Changretta responded with a huff, but kept his eyes on Alfie’s. 

“I’m fucking busy, Scottie.” 

The man went to say something before looking back into the hallway. “Someone’s here, Boss. She’s insistent on seeing you.” 

“She?” Changretta asked, turning to face the door. The knife was still grasped in his hand, some of Alfie’s blood dripping down the tip and onto the dirty floor. 

Scottie nodded, thinking the enthusiasm would convince his boss of the truth when, in reality, it just made him look an idiot. “‘Keeps saying she’s your girl, a gift from the guys back home.” 

That caught Changretta’s attention. Alfie was always amazed at how easily a pussy can cloud a man’s judgement. 

“Put her in my office and wait with her, I’ll be there in a minute.” Scottie nodded and closed the door. They were once again surrounded by the echo of metal on metal. Changretta turned his attention back to Alfie, now with more determination knowing there was a prize waiting for him when the job was finished. 

Muffled voices were bleeding through the thick walls as the knife took its former place beneath Alfie’s neck like a long-lost friend. The pressure increased causing beads of sweat to layer across Alfie’s brow. There were two distinct voices, one deep, frantic and obviously Scottie, and then a second. Light, almost invisible through the walls, but still very much there. 

“Miss, you can’t go in there-.” Alfie could almost picture Scottie’s face as the woman pulled the handle on the door and sent a creak wafting through the air, along with the faintest of scent lavender perfume that soothed the tension in the room like a lullaby. 

He heard the sharp click of her heels before he saw her. The power of her gait was obvious, short strides filled with determination. Changretta looked over, angered and slightly curious at the interruption. 

And there she was. Evelyn. Alfie’s Evelyn. 

She entered the room with a confidence unmatched by most, if any, women in Camden Town. The slight smirk she wore on her face was heavy enough to cover her whole body, currently draped in a coat that left only her collarbones exposed to the frigid, stale air of the basement. The blade in Changretta’s hand caught the light briefly, flashing across the room and catching on her shiny brunette hair like a spotlight. 

Evelyn’s innocence was buried beneath layers and layers of grit, which she credits as her main method of survival during her early years living in Camden. The grime and dirt she slept in had long since been scrubbed off, but after all these years the feeling remained. Like a phantom limb, her past never truly died. And during times like these, when she was dealing with dangers unknown to most social climbers, her past became a rough advantage. 

She surveyed the room from left to right like a submarine radar, honing in on the bearded hostage in the center for just a moment, before continuing on. The men, especially Scottie, watched Evelyn with cold curiosity, their hands relaxed and no longer reaching for their sidearm. They sensed no threat from the small woman in front of them, exactly as she had hoped. With lips covered in rouge, the only thing they were afraid of was wiping the red smudges from their cock before they went home to their own wives.

“I’m sorry, boss. I tried to stop her but she stormed past me,” Scottie said, words tumbling out of his mouth like a toddler. 

“Blaming a lady for your shortcomings? Not very professional of you.” Her voice was sweet, a high pitch that could cut through the air at light speed. Past that child-like demeanor, and Alfie’s obvious shock, he regarded her knowing eyes. Anyone else, especially Changretta, would perceive this as subtle flirting. But Alfie knew that look. He’d been on the receiving end of it too many times to count. It was anything but virtuous. 

Evelyn was planning something. 

She began taking off her pearly white gloves, finger by finger. The men watched with earnest, like it was the beginning stages of a striptease they really wanted to happen. “Perhaps your boss will place the fault onto you, seeing as it was your job to guard the door.” 

“She’s got a point, Scottie.” Changretta was surprised to hear her diction, expecting a lowly, uneducated whore with a vocabulary to match. He dropped the bloody knife on the floor and made his way to the door, ready to greet his unexpected guest. 

“What was I supposed to do?” Scottie asked, panic radiating to the tips of his toes. His hat was bunched up in his fists, most likely wrinkling it past the point of wearability. 

Changretta tilted his head. Scottie could feel his boss’s eyes burning into him like the sun on a tin roof. “What would you have done?”

Scottie shook his head. “I-I don’t-” he started, before quickly being cut off.

“Not you.” Changretta shook his head, face twisted in barely-concealed annoyance. He turned towards Evelyn, who was taking her final finger out of her gloves. “Her.” 

“Well that’s easy,” she replied, matter-of-factly. Her hand drifted to the opening of her coat, caressing the bit of exposed skin on her left thigh. The men were transfixed, Changretta with a slight smirk on his face. Her hand brushed aside the fabric like an actor peeking through stage curtains on opening night, excitement heavily veiled by anticipation. She moved with such grace that, even as her fingers gently gripped the revolver in her thigh holster, her companions were too fogged by lust to notice. The gun whipped out and settled its aim before they could blink. Scottie stood wide-eyed, staring down the barrel as the woman pulled back the hammer and fired. 

The shot echoed louder than the screeching of the door, which was currently flaunting a fresh indent from the smoking bullet that ripped through the young boy without so much as a whisper. He lay, wide-eyed, on the dirty floor, hands still gripping the wrinkled hat. 

And with that, the game had begun. 

Alfie was the first to move, snapping his head towards the woman, briefly meeting her eyes before she looked back down at the body. It was her first kill. Alfie knew this, though only an experienced eye could seek out the symptoms. Most people look for shaky hands, uneven breaths and blank stares. Her palms were perfectly steady, holding the revolver with unwavering strength. Alfie should know, he was the one to teach Evelyn how to shoot in the first place. 

Many evenings were spent in an alley behind the bakery, the harsh sound of gunshots heavily concealed by the noise of the city. Alfie became her favorite teacher. He guided her through the workings of the pistol, dissembling it so Evelyn could see the inner bolts and springs that turned a simple piece of metal into death’s deliverance. She used to roll her eyes and whine, wondering why the mechanical aspects of a gun were needed to learn how to shoot it. But, she realized quickly, knowing the tool inside and out creates an unwavering sense of control. 

“You, luv, are a jockey,” he said softly, hands resting on Evelyn’s waist as her arms raised towards the empty rum bottles he snatched on his way out of the bakery. He leaned down to her ear, bending his knees to make up for the nearly foot of height he had on her. “This pistol is your horse. You have to know what makes it tick, yeah? Feel the power behind it and aim to kill.” 

She nodded, head full of determination. One by one, the bottles shattered against the brick wall until only remnants of glass lay on the dirty ground. 

“Good girl,” he would whisper after each successful shot, not wanting to disturb the bubble of concentration. He received a small smile in return. Evelyn only wanted to make him proud. Only when all the bottles were in pieces, and Evelyn’s arms tired from holding up the weighted metal, did Alfie lean his head into her delicate neck and place a feather-light kiss on the spot that made her moan. 

Over time, she became pretty good. Surprisingly so, Alfie thought. Evelyn could hit a mark better than some of the men in his employ. It was his hope that his wife, the image of innocence, would never have to pull the trigger on someone. Shooting at bottles was nothing compared to a bullet ripping through flesh and blood, watching the light slowly dim from someone’s eyes before it’s gone forever. Alfie never wanted that for Evelyn, even though he always knew the day would come. 

The moment you regret is the moment you lose. Alfie would tell this to his soldiers during the war. He knew the meaning behind it was somewhat meaningless, but in times when hope was so rare, words were the only things to hold onto. Over time, he started to believe them himself. The moment you regret your actions is the exact moment you lost the battle. Regret breeds redemption, and redemption was a never-ending hell. 

Evelyn’s stance faltered under the intense gaze of Changretta. Alfie was afraid that the American would see the hesitation in his wife’s eyes. He knew where to look, for those signs of guilt. And he found them. Her foot was tapping, too light to make noise but enough to notice. Her breath wasn’t erratic, but only because she was holding it in. It was as thought if she breathed in the air, she would also breathe in regret. 

Alfie could hear the behind him move as the revolver was lifted into the air and aimed at his wife. But to his surprise, Changretta put his hand out and motioned the man to stop. 

If there was one thing Evelyn knew, it was men. She thought she knew what she was walking into, But this was one of those instinctual moments when your body moves without asking your brain for permission. She just had a gut feeling that an undeniable show of confidence would appeal to Changretta more so than a meek and demure stance. Tommy had told her tidbits about the mob leader, and she decided to take some liberties of her on. Evelyn’s finger pulled the trigger a second before she recognized the severity of her actions. She was a bringer of death, no better than Changretta. 

For the moment, she was okay with that. 

For Alfie, she thought. She was here to rescue her husband, and would do whatever it took to free him from the shackles of the American mob. 

Alfie caught Evelyn’s eye, itching to cut the restraint around his body. There was a slight sheen to her chocolate irises, covered with shock at her own actions. Alfie had spent many hours preparing her to take the shot. 

But he forgot to ready her for the aftermath. 

Changretta walked over to Scottie, kicking the bottom of his shoe and watching his body shake slightly from the movement, like a spoon of gelatin. The bullet made a clean hole through the boy’s forehead. Alfie could see the growing pile of blood mixing with the old bolts and screws that lay rusting on the ground. Changretta walked around Scottie, moving to pick up the pistol in his dead hands. While trying to sidestep the body, Changretta accidentally stepped into the red puddle. “Fuck,” he muttered under his breath. He lifted his leg and placed his shoe on Scottie’s jacket, scraping the blood off the sole and smearing it on the thick fabric.

Within seconds Scottie had transitioned from loyal henchman to nothing more than a dirty rag. That concept alone was unnerving. Evelyn closed her eyes for a moment, willing her body to take control over her emotions. She had a mission to accomplish. If she failed, she and her husband would end up thrown in a field and left for the crows. 

“Well,” Changretta said, taking a cigarette out of his pocket and lighting it, “this day is certainly turning out much differently than I had anticipated.” He took a long drag from his cig, blowing smoke towards the girl. Through the foggy haze, Evelyn’s eyes stayed locked on his, a silent battle that neither party was willing to lose. “What’s your name, doll?” 

Alfie’s gaze snapped to his wife, imagining the cogs in her head turning. She’d never experienced this side of humanity before, choosing to politely ignore the dirtier parts of Alfie’s business. Let me be your light, she would say. Someone to draw him from the bleak darkness that had consumed his life for more years than he could remember. 

Every night that he would step through the threshold of his home, she was there waiting to take the pain away. Evelyn never complained, nor did she ask for information. She kept her thoughts close to her heart, choosing to tend to Alfie’s wounds and silently remove the bloodstains from her husband’s clothes. They both knew, one day, she would be forced to do her part and take a place in the business. But until that day came, Alfie and Evelyn were content in following their own unspoken roles. 

Evelyn’s nervousness hid behind a quaint smile that she hoped would hide her quivering lips. “Dorothy,” she replied without so much of a stutter. So she can think on her feet, her husband thought. Amidst all the feelings that threatened to overwhelm him, Evelyn spared a glance at Alfie and recognized one clear as day: pride, followed closely by frustration that she had put herself in this position in the first place. Her facade was believable. That alone gave her the boost she needed to drive through the fear and hopefully get both of them out safely. 

Changretta nodded and took another drag from the cigarette. “Dorothy,” he said, testing the name on his tongue. “Dotty sounds better. I’d prefer that.” Evelyn almost shivered at the way he said her fake name, reminding her just how far deep she’s in. 

Evelyn shrugged, her eyebrow quirking up dismissively in an effort to conceal her nerves. “You can call me whatever you want.” Her coat, which still hung heavily on her shoulders, opened just enough for Changretta to get a glimpse of her gentle decolletage. Evelyn’s soft skin was flushed pink from the obvious stares she was receiving around the room, but only one was truly welcome. Her eyes locked on Alfie, whose rage was simmering too close to the top, like a pot of water waiting to boil over the edge. 

Changretta finally lifted his eyes back to Evelyn’s face, smirking. “I like the sound of that.” After a final drag of tobacco, Changretta tossed the half-used cigarette into the puddle of Scottie’s blood and watched the dying smoke rise to the ceiling. “So, Dotty, as you can see, I’m in the middle of some business here,” he said, lifting his arms up like the ringleader of a circus. 

“You seem like a very, very important man, Mr. Changretta,” Evenlyn replied. 

“That’s because I am.” She spotted the open cabinet of torture tools in the corner, looking back towards Alfie. The collar of his thin shirt had soaked up the blood from the superficial neck wound like fresh ink on parchment. He didn’t seem to be in too much pain, but Evelyn knew her husband well enough that, even if he was in pain, he would never let Changretta see it on his face. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to postpone our meeting. I wasn’t aware you were coming.” 

Changrett’a tone was not exactly accusing, but rather curious. A young girl posed no threat to his business, and while the timing was off, he wasn’t going to turn her away until he had a reason to. 

Alfie held his breath, waiting on edge to hear Evelyn’s response. The underworld business had no tolerance for liars, and over the years he had developed a sharp inkling for those who sidestepped the truth while in his presence. Subtle nuances like breath patterns and eye contact were dead giveaways, and if Alfie could spot a liar, chances were that Changretta could too. 

Evelyn, thankfully, didn’t bat an eyelash. Her shoes clicked against the floor as she mosied over to Changretta, distracting the men with her airy, carefree movements. She stood in front of Changretta, her small frame easily dwarfed by his above-average height like a child gazing up at a sycamore tree. “That’s what a surprise is,” she replied. Her dainty fingers lifted in the air and landed softly on the lapel of his shirt, the tips lightly kissing the expensive fabric before dropping down. Her touch was so soft, Changretta almost thought he was imagining it. “They were adamant that you not find out. Said I’d get a little something extra for keeping it a secret.” 

Changretta nodded slowly. “They miss me that much, huh?” 

“They do,” Evelyn said, a soft smile pulling her pink lips up. “You’re a wanted man, Sir. In every sense of the word.” Alfie could see the lust in Changretta’s eyes the moment she addressed him with a formal title. He knew exactly what kind of man stood too close to his wife, a man that enjoyed seeing women twist and turn within his powerful grasp. 

“Ryan,” Changretta said firmly, turning to the man closest to him and motioning his head to Evelyn, “Go take Dotty here to my office and wait with her.” Evelyn’s heart sped up for a split second, her mind racing to figure out how to stay in the room without being too obvious. The man, Ryan, was shorter than Changretta but much, much thicker. His heavy steps vibrated across the floor and right into her bones. She instinctively took a step back before quickly realizing her mistake. Luckily, Changretta seemed to think her fear came from the size of the man and not the fact that she was leaving the room her husband was currently being tortured in. 

She righted her stance and forced a sultry smile onto her face. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible, Mr. Changretta.” 

“Why?” he asked, distaste hiding behind a curious state. He was clearly put off by her blatant disrespect. As someone who rarely heard the word no, Evelyn needed to come up with a believable excuse or else her cover would be blown to pieces faster than she could reach for her gun again. Panic must have registered in her stance, and Alfie could see it. 

“I don’t mind, mate,” Alfie said, drawing Changretta’s eyes from his wife and over to him. “You think you can let me have a go when you’re done? A… final meal, I su’pose. Quite my type, she is.” Changretta’s eyes lit up with annoyance quicker than the match he used to light a new cigarette. He looked at Ryan, motioning him towards the prisoner. Alfie prepared himself for a blow, watching as Ryan closed his hand into a fist. Closing his eyes, Alfie heard the faint whistle as knuckles flew through the air and landed on his cheek with the force of a champion boxer. 

Evelyn inwardly cringed, guilt seeping into her skin at the thought of Alfie trying to protect her, when he was the one tied to a chair and looking like a bruised apple that lay fallen at the bottom of a tree. As much as she tried to not look at her husband leaning against the coarse ropes he was bound in, her resistance wavered the longer it took for him to sit up again. Pain was evident in the way his head hung over his legs, hesitant to sit up for fear he would be hit once more. 

As Evelyn and Alfie predicted, a second blow was quickly wound up and inbound. In a panic Evelyn grasped Changretta’s arm, drawing attention back to her. 

“I’m on a time limit!” she yelled, the volume of her voice distracting Ryan from the impending blow. He stood still, hand raised behind him and ready to swing like a loaded slingshot. He looked towards his boss to see if there were new orders, causing Evelyn to speak again. “If you want me, you have to take me now,” she said, her tone oozing raw sensuality. 

Changretta looked down at the young girl, transfixed by the wide, innocent eyes that made his pants tight. In her peripheral, Evelyn saw Alfie finally sitting up and spared him a glance. His pained moan travelled to the deepest corners of her mind and she knew it would haunt her thoughts for months to come… if she made it that far. She 

Changretta gripped her chin roughly and turned her head back to face him. “But I don’t have time now, doll,” he said, condescension bitter on his tongue. “I’m sure your boss can understand that.” 

Evelyn’s mind was racing with ideas. If she left the room, there was no way she would escape the guard and make her way back in. Surely Alfie would die at the hands of the Italians. Alone. 

That thought broke her heart. 

Ryan walked over to Evelyn, reaching roughly for her arm and dragging her out of the room without so much as a blink in her direction. 

“Wait,” Evelyn said, “I have an idea.” She pulled out of Ryan’s grasp but remained rooted near the door. She knew Changretta was like a wild animal. Any unnecessary movement would spook him and only serve to add to his aggression. 

She choseher words very carefully. “Why not… fuck two birds with one stone.” 

That caught everyone’s attention. 

“I didn’t realize Camden girls had such filthy mouths,” Changretta said, the weight of his stare laying heavily over the room. 

“You’re planning on killing him, right?” she asked. “It doesn’t take much to see that.” 

“It’s not polite for young girls to put their noses where they don’t belong,” he replied, the words sneaking into her ears with a malice that could scare grown men into submission. Her heartbeat raced, blocking the sound of his expensive italian shoes approaching her cowering figure. 

“It’s just... he said I'm his type.” Her shoulders deflated when the man’s stride remained steadily towards her.

Changretta reached the girl’s uncertain form, leaning down so his face was directly level with hers. Evelyn could practically taste the stale tobacco as he opened his mouth to speak. “What’s your point?” he asked in a chillingly, even voice. 

Evelyn looked towards Alfie, whose face held indiscernible emotion upon hearing her words. The deafening silence was emphasized by the drip drip drip in the corner of the basement, seeming impossibly louder than before. If only she could hear what her husband was thinking. Alfie had always been the planner of the relationship. She was content to simply step back and allow his domineering nature to take control. Evelyn trusted him with her life. Did he think the same? There was only one way to find out. It was up to her, though, to take that final step. 

Changretta lifted an eyebrow, impatiently waiting for her response. Evelyn took a deep breath before shooting Changretta a look that could rival Aphrodite herself. She placed her hand on the man’s collar, purposefully brushing against the bit of exposed skin and watching goosebumps appear in its path like a wave to the shore. 

Gripping the material softly, she pulled Changretta down to her level, brought her lips to his ear and whispered. 

“Make him watch.” 

Changretta’s breath hitched at the thought. He’d always been a rather private man, keeping the details of his many affairs close to him and his inner circle. He couldn’t deny the flood of heat that ran through his body, like her words had sparked a fire in his ear and flowed all the way down to his hardening cock. Changretta’s eyes soaked up the sultry stare of the curious girl beneath him. 

Evelyn could see the effect of her words right away. No, she wasn’t a gang leader or mafia boss. But she was a woman, and women know how to take the strongest of men and tear into their desires like a bear eating after a long hibernation. Her sex appeal was unapologetic and forceful, hidden carefully beneath a blanket of superficial innocence.

A ghost of a smile flickered across Changretta’s lips. “Leave us,” he said, speaking to Ryan while gazing at Evelyn with a thirst she had only seen before on Alfie’s face. 

Alfie. She couldn’t spare a glance at him for fear that the spell she cast on Changretta would be broken. 

She had almost forgotten the hulking guard in the room. He shuffled out quickly, taking hold of Scottie’s arms and dragging the dead body out with him. A trail of smeared blood passed beneath the door before disappearing from view, though the distinct metallic scent lingered in Evelyn’s nostrils long after the door shut with a heavy bang. 

“You’re not as innocent as you appear to be.” Changretta gripped her chin with a condescending laugh. “We don’t have girls like you back in America. You’re so…” He leaned in, putting his nose in her thick, brown curls and took a deep breath. “Intoxicating.” 

Evelyn shivered out of disgust, but the man took it as a positive reaction to his proximity to her tiny body. 

“I bet you just love being picked up and thrown around, don’t you?” he asked, not expecting an answer, and Evelyn not willing to give one. The truth was… she did. But only by her husband’s gentle yet firm hands. From the very first time they had met, Evelyn had felt a magnetic attraction to Alfie. While most women her size would have been intimidated by his imposing stature, she craved it. She loved the way he was able to pick her up easily, like she was his personal bouquet of flowers to look at and arrange just the way he wanted. Every night she caged herself tightly in his arms. 

Alfie made her feel safe. 

Changretta made her feel tainted. Dirty. 

Evelyn looked at Alfie, his knuckles practically white from how tight his hands were clenched into fists. He no longer felt the harsh rope against his skin, nor the stiffening muscles that seemed to grow tighter by the second. His entire body felt like rubber being stretched to its limit, one tug away from snapping. Evelyn tried to ignore the sharp sense of remorse that she stood unharmed while her husband sat damaged mere feet away from her. Focus was no longer a want.

It was a necessity. 

“You’re a fiery one, aren’t you,” Changretta said, taking her attention away from her husband yet again. She forced a smile and tilted her head, beckoning him to rip her coat away from her body to see what was beneath. He moved his hands to the top button, but she beat him to it. Taking two steps away, she slowly revealed what she had, or didn’t have, beneath the heavy cloth. 

“You know, Mr. Changretta,” she said, brushing her fingertips delicately across the visible black lace of her brasserie, “I was paid to put on a show for you.” 

“Is that right?” Changretta’s eyes were aflame with wanton desire. Evelyn gave him a look that rendered his arms immobile, only able to watch as she slowly stripped her coat from her body to reveal expensive lingerie that looked like it was perfectly molded to the curves of her breasts. 

Alfie’s only thought was to drain the lust out of him slowly. 

The coat, now half unbuttoned, was pulled down her creamy shoulder to rest above her elbows. Evelyn smiled, coyness seeping through her lips and into Changretta’s waiting body. He soaked it up like a sponge in water. For her plan to work, she had to appeal to his alpha side. Men like this need to have their dominance validated. “You’re the most powerful man I’ve ever had the pleasure of being with. No one else could possibly compare to you, Sir.” 

The words fell softly from her mouth and floated around the room like a dandelion blowing in the wind. Changretta drank in every word like it was his last on earth, falling prey to a ruse far better than he could ever replicate. Even Alfie sat silent in the middle of the room, admiring the way the moonlight wafted through the tiny window and surrounded Evelyn in a pool of white. The shadows of her long eyelashes say angelically across her delicate features, the innocence that Alfie wanted to protect but just couldn’t tear himself away from. 

Under the cover of her coat, while Changretta was distracted by her visible cleavage, Evelyn slyly removed the gun from her coat pocket and placed it behind her back, in the waistband of her panties. The metal felt uncomfortably warm on her skin after so many hours of it enclosed in the heavy fabric. Both the Italian and Alfie were too transfixed by her swaying body to notice. She started walking to the center of the room, two sets of eagle eyes tracking her across the basement floor. 

“Is the door locked, Mr. Changretta?” 

As soon as his back was turned, Evelyn reached at the dull blade Changretta had dropped when she first entered the room. Quickly placing it in Alfie’s hands, tied together behind his back, she hoped he could find friction and loosen the ropes enough to slip out. 

“It is now,” Changretta turned back around, making a beeline for the beautiful woman who held all his attention. 

Evelyn mimicked Changretta’s movements as he circled around her, keeping an equal distance. He was stalking her with precision that lions in the African desert would envy. She could see it in the way his feet landed carefully on the ground, completely soundless aside from her uneven breathing. His body was tense and ready to pounce at a moment's notice. 

Alfie kept his eyes peeled on Changretta, but his real focus was on the loosening restraints. He kept wondering why Evelyn was circulating through the room, until he realized what she was doing. 

Clever girl. 

She was trying to get Changretta’s back towards Alfie, giving him ample time to work the coarse ropes around his wrists without worrying about the tall Italian seeing. Alfie gave her a quick smile and wink around Changretta before silently sawing the dull blade against the material. 

“Come here, girl.” Changretta motioned to Evelyn, his patience running thinner each step she took away from him. 

“Why rush it?” she replied, wishing to buy more time for her husband. “We have all the time in the world, don’t we?” She was sickly sweet, letting the coat slide down her elbows to her forearms. Changretta hungrily followed the fabric, noticing that she was clad in nothing but lingerie. Evenlyn’s confidence was waning with every second, knowing that as soon as the coat was fully removed from her body, he would have less of a reason to stay away. Her skin called to his touch like a lighthouse on a foggy morning, Changretta acting as the lonely sailor finally closing the distance between himself and sweet relief. 

Alfie was furiously tearing away at the ropes, noticing the look of panic that grew on his wife’s face. He was so, so close to ripping his wrists away from the bondages and towards freedom. 

“I’m not waiting any longer,” Changretta said, making long strides towards the nearly-naked girl. He went to grab her roughly, feeling the lace material in his palms. He couldn’t wait to claw at her panties like a desperate man’s last meal. The atmosphere went from teasing to testy in one short second. 

“Stop!” she screamed, the pain evident on her face. It only served to make Alfie saw through the rope faster. 

“You’re mine now.” Changretta’s grip was firm, fingernails digging into Evelyn’s arm like tiny bee stings. He showed his teeth in obvious displeasure. He thought whores were supposed to be easier than this. It wasn’t fun anymore. 

Evelyn’s view of Alfie was completely blocked by the raging man in front of her, so she had no idea if he had successfully removed the ropes. It was an odd position to be in, the damsel in distress. It’s even more distressing knowing that your only hope of being saved was currently tied to a chair and struggling to get out. 

Evelyn had come face to face with death a few times. It had whispered in her ear, caressed her cheek and turned her head towards a grave in every stage of life, yet it had never felt the need to take her. Maybe today, she thought. Maybe today she would finally be dragged six feet beneath the soil while Changretta pissed over her tombstone wearing nothing but a cunning smile. 

“Stupid bitch!” Changretta had reached peak levels of animosity, with Evelyn acting as his main target. The light in her eyes was quickly dimming with shadows of doubt. She was trapped. The plan she had concocted in her head was nothing more than that, a plan, failed to be properly put into action. If she made it difficult, she thought, if she put up a fight against Changretta, maybe Alfie would have more time to escape. 

Changretta grabbed Evelyn by the throat, his fingers winding around her neck like a snake around a mouse. She stood still, her body begging to give up the fight before the point of no return. His hair had fallen into his eyes, crazed with lust. He was enjoying this, she could tell. The way his lips curled in victory, and his body twinged with anticipation of his fleshy reward. 

“Good girl,” he said with a soft aggression that frightened her more than anything. But beneath the fear, her anger bubbled to the surface. The words were like flint on a fire, causing her to explode with adrenaline that she believed had failed her. Good girl? A thunderstorm brewed in her stormy eyes, electricity palpable in the air. Her brimming tears were absorbed back into her body, muscles rigid with pent-up frustration. 

She bore into his eyes with more hatred than the Italian had seen in his years within the mafia. Shock registered across his sharp features. His hand loosened around her neck subconsciously, almost afraid that her contempt would crawl through the pores of her skin as toxic sweat. She walked towards him, his head leaning down slightly, trying to understand why someone so petite could harbor such emotion in her delicate face. Evelyn shook her head in contempt and smiled brightly up at him. 

Her knee thrusted up between him and landed the perfect blow. Changretta leaned into her, loosening his hand around her throat. The pain was strong enough to have him doubled over, groans flowing out of his mouth with no sign of stopping. Now the same height as Evelyn, it was easy for her to grasp the man at the nape of his neck and bring her lips close to his ear. “I’m not your good girl, Mr. Changretta.” Her words ghosted across his ears so lightly that he didn’t register the meaning until it was too late. “I’m his.” 

Time exploded into the longest second of Evelyn’s life.

“Now, Evie!” Alfie’s hands flew up from behind the chair, chapped and rubbed raw from the rope but he didn't care. He was finally free. Evelyn pushed Changretta with all the force she had, watching him stumble back into Alfie’s body, still restrained to the chair by his feet. 

“How ‘bout that American confidence now, yeah?” Changretta’s body had slipped to the floor, his face turning red from the choke hold Alfie was using. The Jew grabbed the mobster by the neck, twisting it to the side and positioning the dull blade against Changretta’s open throat. “Not fun, innit, mate?”

Alfie’s line of sight traveled up to his wife, and what a sight it was. Her chest was flushed the most alluring shade of rose, breaths slowly evening out from its erratic movements. Her coat was entirely on the ground, exposing the red and black lace lingerie to the gaze of the two men. Her pale skin drank the stream of moonlight that glided through the small window like a prism. Alfie expected a rainbow to appear the wall next to them, though he wouldn’t dare make any movement that would ruin the image before him. 

She was his good girl. All his. 

But before he took her home to claim her, they had to dispose of the loose end currently stiff in Alfie’s grasp. Changretta wore a look of disbelief, and slight embarrassment. But above all the emotions that circulated in his mind, confusion came to the forefront. And Alfie could feel it, so he felt the guy needed an explanation before meeting the dark, fiery pools of hell. 

“Little one,” Alfie smirked, threatening to break into a full smile at the sight of his wife. “As much as I’d love to rip that lace off you, it does look rather good.” Evelyn saw the amusement in her husband’s features. His eyes held an underlying message. Alfie had one rule for his gang: don’t play with your food. But under these circumstances, she allowed the hypocrisy to melt into the air like it never existed. “Where’d you get it?” he asked, full well knowing the answer. 

Changretta’s confusion grew, the unrelated question snowballing in his head.

Evelyn was more than happy to answer, and did so with more attitude than the most sought-after whore in the brothel. “Don’t you know, Alf? It’s French. You were the one who gave it to me, afterall.” 

She could see the gears churning in Changretta’s head, before finally, recognition lit across his face. He nodded, juggling his options in his head before landing on an emotion Evelyn never thought she would see across the gang leader’s face. 

Resignation. 

“So you’re the wife,” he said. Evelyn shared a quick glance with Alfie, an unspoken request passing between them. Aflie nodded, hesitant at first, and then more firmly. Evelyn removed the gun tucked behind her back and aimed at Changretta’s forehead with an ease that only came to those who had encountered death as intimate as she had. 

“No,” she replied, answering Changretta like an old friend. “I’m his queen.” 

And then she pulled the trigger. 

With that, hours of distress and pain faded into the past. 

“My good girl,” Alfie muttered, more to himself than his wife. She already knew. 

Alfie loosened his hold on Changretta, a little shaken by the underlying worry of Evelyn missing her mark. Deep down, though, he knew she could hit the bullseye without thinking twice. In fact, she could have made it from yards away with the same determined accuracy of a true marksman. The dead body slipped easily out of his grasp like liquid, pooling on the floor in a pile of his own blood. 

Evelyn walked over to her husband, kicking the body out of her way. Changretta was nothing more than garbage now. Just the way it should be. 

Alfie’s ankles were still tied to the legs of the chair, but he didn’t complain. Evelyn was too much in her own thoughts to notice. Blood was splattered across the chest and sleeves of Alfie’s shirt, dark with revenge for almost taking her husband away from her. Burning the clothing will be the only way to truly rid it from their lives. She would throw it in the same fire that would destroy Changretta’s dead body. 

Alfie opened his arms to his wife, who gladly fell into them. The pent up worry finally came to the surface of her mind, eyes watering and body going limp as the adrenaline wore off. Alfie took hold of her, starved of her affection for too long. For hours he had tried to remember the last time he kissed her. Was it that morning, when he left for the bakery while she was dozing in and out of sleep, tucked under the covers? Or was it last night, when he fucked her from behind and then held her as the endorphins wore out of their systems, stroking the supple skin in the dips of her waist. It didn’t matter anymore. All he could think about was the fear that rippled through his body at the notion that he might never hold her again. 

The room was tense. Evelyn loosened her grip on the gun and let it fall from her hands. It dropped onto Changretta’s body with a soft thud before rolling onto the hard ground. 

The atmosphere was growing stiff as the reality of the situation finally hit the married couple. 

“I had it under control, you know,” Alfie said, attempting to lighten the mood. Anything to distract from the idea that either one of them, or both, could have easily been dead if it hadn't been for Evelyn’s quick thinking. 

“Is that what you’d classify under as control,” she mumbled into the soft hairs on his neck. “You’re body would have been in the back of a car halfway to The Cut right now if it weren't for me.” 

“Maybe,” he replied, knowing full well that Evelyn was right. “But I never want to see you in that fuckin’ position again, yeah? I’d die of a heart attack before they can do anythin’ to me.” 

“I would do it again if I had to.” She sat upright, arms still solidly around her husband's shoulders. She went to caress his cheek but hesitated when she noticed the slight shake of her fingers. Her mind had reset to a calmer state, but her body wasn’t cooperating as quickly as she’d like. 

She was disappointed in herself. Growing up in the pits of society gave her a front row seat to death, day after day. She was no stranger to the uglier sides of living. She and her siblings were used to seeing the bodies of men decaying in a gutter outside her family home. It was normal, expected even. By ten years of age, her voice didn’t so much as quiver at the sight of exposed bone. But all those years, she was never the cause of such horrid displays of power. She had never sent anyone to their grave.

Until today. 

She moved to drop her hand, but Alfie intercepted it and continued its path to his cheek. Her palm was warm against his skin, the same hand that had grasped the gun. His beard scratched against the surface of her skin. It felt like home. 

“How’d the hell you know where to find me anyway?” Alfie asked. His knew regret was like venom in the bloodstream. It poisoned every detail that made a person human. He would rather die a gruesome death than lose his wife’s pure heart to an act of salvation. 

“A lot of luck, to be honest,” she replied. “Ollie called me saying that you hadn’t shown up to a meeting with Shelby.” She remembered the tone of Ollie’s voice, asking politely for him to slow down and start again because every word seemed to rush out of his mouth in the obvious language of panic. Perhaps he was speaking clearly and it was Evelyn who was deafened by worry. 

“I miss plenty of meetings,” Alfie said. He wound a finger around the bit of dark hair that had fallen from its neat place behind her ear during the scuffle with Changretta. It still smelled of the lavender oils he purchased for her a few months back. It had become his favorite scent, leagues better than the mold and dust of the basement. He missed this hair, the way it bounced and waved like the tide of the river. To think he came nearly a breath away from never seeing it again, or feeling the way it wrapped around his palm for leverage when she kneeled to take his member in her readily open mouth. 

“But you’ve never missed a meeting with Shelby, which is why Ollie was asking for you. When I told him you hadn’t come home last night, we knew something was wrong.” There were many occasions when Alfie slept in his confined office at the bakery, always complaining of a stiff neck or thrown-out back from the lumpy cushions of the couch there. But, no matter where he slept, he always came home for breakfast. Alfie loved waking his wife with the harsh contrast of soft caresses and the stubble around his mouth. The day didn’t begin until he saw her chocolate eyes, with haze only brought on by deep sleep.

Alfie knew that his wife would be concerned when she didn't wake up to his calloused hands running beneath the thin fabric of her nightgown. “But how’d you know it was the Italians?” He asked, curious to hear how she was able to track him amongst the countless abandoned establishments in London. 

“Shelby suggested it,” Evelyn replied. Alfie’s eyebrows shot up. Shelby wasn’t his enemy, but he certainly wasn’t Alfie’s ally either. He could only guess that Evelyn’s persuasive nature softened up the Birmingham native enough for useful information. Alfie pictured Tommy’s wavering glance as his wife put on a pout that could start and end wars. “He figured since Changretta was after him, they would be after you too. Shelby gave me the names of a few places they frequented. I recognized Scottie from around the bakery and followed him here.” 

Right, next question. “Wearing fuckin’ lingerie, yeah?”

Evelyn blushed, looking into her lap. It was the first time since she walked through the door that Alfie could spot the real Evelyn. His wife. Not the hardened girl brought up in the dregs of Camden Town. His Evelyn. She had told him long ago that he was the only person to dig through the layers of self-preservation and hurt, finding the uninhibited version of her. Those blushes were reserved for him, and him only. In her childhood neighborhood, she was known to attack. As the baker’s wife, she was known to have a tough, yet neutral exterior. But to Alfie, in their home, she was his “little one,” who he had sworn to protect the moment he laid eyes on her. 

Her cheeks flamed with a gorgeous pink, just for him. “That wasn’t a part of the plan,” she said, lips curving up in slight embarrassment. “I was hoping to surprise you. When Ollie called me, I ran out of the house so quickly I didn’t get a chance to put something else on. But it worked in our favor, didn’t it?” 

Alfie traced the delicate skin of her back, fully exposed to the cool air that betrayed the encounter just moments before. His fingertips gently roamed up until it reached the nape of her neck, where her baby hairs stuck to the sweat that was a result of the adrenaline built-up during the scuffle. He gripped it firmly, tilting her head to look directly at his. Heat immediately pooled between her legs.

“I don’t want anyone else seeing you like this.” His low voice sent tantalizing vibrations down her body and to the very tips of her toes. “My eyes only, luv.” Evelyn nodded, trying to calm the electricity running through her. 

“I’m surprised the others didn’t hear the shot.” She looked towards the door, expecting Changretta’s final soldier to fly through the door and slaughter them without so much as a thought. “We’ll have to kill him too.” 

“All in good time. The door is locked, he can’t come back in yet.” 

Evelyn removed Alfie’s hands from her body and stood up in one fluid motion. He went to follow her, eyes glazed with lust, but realized his ankles were still attached to the legs of the chair. He looked to the ground, noticing that the knife he used against Changretta’s neck lay on the floor, just a few feet out of reach. “Hand me that knife, will you?” he asked, holding his hand out and waiting to feel the cold metal on his palm.

Evelyn grabbed the weapon off the floor, ignoring her husband’s request, instead choosing to stare at it thoughtfully. 

“What’re you thinkin’ in that beautiful head of yours?” 

“Just that… I can still surprise you.” Evelyn smiled, the very one that made Alfie’s hand itch to throw her over his knees and spank the sensitive flesh of her curves. 

Outside their home, Evelyn radiated a confidence that made men cower in their boots. She refused to take orders from someone just because they had a cock between their legs. She took any command from a man with a grain of salt and spit to the boots. 

There was something about Alfie, though, that brought out a different Evelyn. A girl willing to throw her faith into her husband and allow him to take control over her mind and body. She soon realized how emotionally relieving it was, like opening a spicket and letting years of tension flow away. It was a gift to Alfie, and he always treated it as such. He was a dominant man, and she was gracious enough to let him be. 

It wasn’t about control. It was about trust. 

So now, with Evelyn having the obvious upper hand, Alfie felt a rush of foreign emotion seep into his skin. It wasn’t an unpleasant sensation, just new. “Give me the knife, Evie.” Evelyn shook her head, biting the bottom of her lip. He asked again, and received the same answer.

The air around them crackled, striking Alfie with little bolts that went straight to his hardening cock. Evelyn noticed, placing the knife on the floor, just out of his reach. She was teasing him. 

“You’re playin’ a very dangerous game, little one.” Alfie leaned his forearms atop his thighs, silently reveling in Evelyn’s attempt at taking the upper hand. Physically, she did. He had no choice but to remain where he was. But both of them knew she enjoyed giving Alfie control just as much as he loved taking it. 

Evelyn walked around him, running her fingertips along the muscles of his strong shoulders. She took a minute to stop and kick Changretta’s dead body out of her way to gain better access to her husband. 

“I know you’re enjoying this,” she said, kneeling before him and placing her small palm over the growing bulge in his trousers. “See?” Evelyn undid the button at his waist and grabbed the zipper, slowly pulling it down. Alfie was hyper aware of every movement. His heartbeat picked up speed and he wondered if she could hear it. 

“Untie me, Ev-” Alfie’s words were swallowed by the guttural groan that escaped between his lips as Evelyn pulled his cock from between the zipper, grasping it lightly in her hand. He closed his eyes and focused on the firm grip moving up and down, making him impossibly harder than he already was. Her one hand barely made it around all of him, instead choosing to use two. Evelyn had always expressed her admiration of Alfie’s member, it’s thickness and length the perfect size to stretch her so wonderfully. 

Her gentle ministrations picked up speed. She rubbed her thumb across the tip of his cock, spreading the precum that had gathered from her attention on the soft skin. He loved the way she squeezed her hands just enough to create the perfect amount of friction. Alfie was in heaven, only acutely aware of the metal door that separated them from Changretta’s guard somewhere else in the building. The imminent danger only served to rile him up more.

Alfie opened his eyes just in time to watch Evelyn peek her tongue from between her lips and lick the head of his weeping cock. “Fuckin’ hell,” he sighed, words getting caught in his throat. She dipped her tongue into the sensitive hole, swirling around the silky surface. Evelyn’s hands continued to work the base of his member with a consistent pace, the combination of her mouth and hands bringing him to a place he could only describe as holy.

Alfie couldn't contain his sigh as she opened her mouth and took the entire head of his cock slowly into her mouth. She moaned around him, sending vibrations down the base and all the way to his balls. Her big, innocent eyes were a direct contrast to the wicked things she did to his body. It only made him want to corrupt her. Her mouth went lower and he slipped further up her throat. The weight of his cock reminded Evelyn of how much control she had over her husband. She wanted more, yearning to take all of him and make him beg for her time and time again. 

He hit the back of her throat, making her gag slightly. Alfie groaned louder, loving the feeling of her throat constricting tighter around him. His hands automatically tangled themselves in her long locks, grasping harder with each inch she took of him.

“You’ll be the fuckin’ death of me, I swear.” Alfie pushed a strand of hair from her face, soaking up the sight of his little wife on her knees, choking on his fat cock. He felt just about ready to explode, and Evelyn could tell. With a pop of her mouth, she released Alfie from the moist cavern and stood up, her red lipstick sinfully smeared across her mouth. 

“Do you still want me to untie you?” she asked, innocence radiating off her in waves of eagerness. 

It only took Alfie a few seconds to really know what he wanted. 

“No.” His arms snaked around her waist. He leaned back into the chair, his cock bouncing with the movement, beckoning her to sit on it. He pulled her to him, her thigh brushing along the supple skin of his shaft. “I want you to ride my cock and take all my cum, just like the good girl that you are.” Alfie lifted the bra from her body and released her rosy nipples to the air. 

The obscene words that flew from his mouth sent a rush of juices surging from her pussy, soaking into the thin material of her panties. Alfie loved teasing her with dirty words, seeing her skin flush pink against the black lace that scantily covered her. She still hadn’t answered him. 

“Can you do that for me, little one? Do you think you can take all my cock inside you?” 

Evelyn nodded, eager to please Alfie and make both of them cum harder than they ever had before. He reached his finger to trace the outline of her pussy lips over her panties, nearly moaning at how wet they were. He gripped each side of her panties and quickly ripped the flimsy fabric away from her body. They floated to the ground, landing next to the knife that no longer held any of Alfie’s attention.

He dipped his finger into the pool of arousal practically dripping down Evelyn’s thighs, bringing it to his lips and tasting her on his tongue like nectar from the sweetest flower. He could just drink her up if he wanted to. She moaned, his name falling off her tongue like a prayer. 

“My sweet girl,” he said, taking two fingers to her pussy. This time, he slowly entered the digits at her opening, pushing farther as she adjusted to the fat size of his fingers inside her. Her eyes closed, but her lips remained open to let the stream of sighs mingle with his name, over and over again. He pumped in and out, picking up speed the more she ground down into him. His thumb grazed over her swollen clit, making her buck into the pleasure. “That’s it, luv,” he muttered, transfixed by the angelic features twisted in an expression of pure ecstasy. 

Rain softly tapped against the window, providing the perfect blanket of sound to cover the sighs escaping Evelyn’s mouth. Alfie’s fingers brought her closer and closer to the release she was begging for. Her core was flooded with slick arousal, getting wetter by the moment. 

“Alfie,” she moaned loudly, looking into the sea-green irises overcome with lust. 

“Let go, Evie. Let go for me.” His thumb moved with such precision, rubbing her clit in circles while his fingers hit the spot that made her hands fold into fists. Evelyn’s body tensed, muscles going rigid with impending release. With a final sob, Alfie felt her clench around his fingers. “That’s it, luv.” He let her ride the waves of ecstacy with softer strokes across her sensitive nub. Evelyn breathed deeply. Her eyes were still shut, mouth hanging open. 

Alfie carefully pulled her body over his cock. He was painfully hard, pointing up and ready to sheath himself into her as deep as possible. She was still dazed by the intensity of her orgasm and allowed Alfie to position her just how he wanted it. His own little rag doll. Evelyn’s body pressed against his, careful not to jostle his bruised ribs. Her taut nipples skimmed the hairs on his chest, begging for any kind of attention they could get. 

Alfie claimed her mouth in a soft, yet passionate kiss that had been long overdue. He dominated her mouth, making her body squirm against his strong chest. 

Alfie positioned his cock below her and guided her to sit on his lap. Lower and lower until finally… 

Both moaned against each other’s lips as they were coupled. She was so wet that she sank down his member with ease. It felt better than she had remembered. 

Alfie could barely form words, rendered speechless from the warmth that rose through him. She felt impossibly tight around him, a feeling he’d been addicted to since the very first time they were intimate. She surrounded him like an ocean of silk that engulfed his every nerve. 

They moved in sync, Alfie easily lifting and lowering her to both their liking since her legs were too short to use the ground for leverage. He filled her so completely, hitting her g-spot with decadent force that kept a stream of sighs leaving her throat. Alfie mimicked her voice, but with obscenities of his own. 

The basement melted away like snow on a radiator. Changretta became an errant thought not worth noticing. It was only them in that room. Their bodies, alive and full of heat, rocking against each other like it was the final time, though Alfie planned on many, many more nights of unending passion flowing through their veins. 

Evelyn’s orgasm built again, threatening to tip over the edge at any moment. “I’m close, Alfie.” She ground her clit against the base of his cock looking for friction. 

“Wait for me, luv.”

“I don’t think I can.” 

Alfie grabbed her chin and forced her to look him in the eye. “Yes you can, Evie. We’re almost there. Look at me, yeah? Don’t stop looking at me.” Evelyn nodded, her head swaying back and forth as she rocked on top of him. Alfie needed no other cue. He grabbed her waist and took control over her body, pumping up harder and faster into her like a piston. Her moans grew louder, reaching a crescendo that there was no coming back from. Alfie felt himself building into a much needed release, a bomb ready to explode. 

“Cum for me, luv.” That was all it took. Evelyn shattered around him in a powerful orgasm, her world coming alive with sensations only Alfie could bring her. She closed her eyes to embrace the weightlessness he thrust upon her, lips quivering with unspoken adoration. She sunk unto him one last time, clit rubbing against his lower abs in a way that seemed to infinitely prolong her pleasure. Feeling her convulse around him, Alfie soon tipped over the edge of his own and released into her with a groan. He squeezed her ass, milking the cum from his cock. He would never, never grow tired of this feeling. 

Evelyn collapsed on top of him, placing her sweaty forehead in the crook of his neck. He held her as though she would disappear from his protective fold, trying to touch every bit of skin he could find. The slight sheen of perspiration provided a cool reprieve from the torrid temperature of the room. Evelyn welcomed the chill on her back as Alfie drew circles on her skin with warm fingertips. To think, her husband was almost taken away from her. She couldn't begin to imagine the irreversible pain that would accompany such an act. As if feeling the emotions running through her head, Alfie pulled her even closer to his chest, tucking her head safely into his neck and wondering if it were possible to keep her there forever. 

After a few long moments of silence, Alfie sighed. “That answers our question.” Evelyn turned her head and looked up at him with a questioning glance. “If they didn’t hear your moans, Changretta’s man must be deaf.” The lustful spell was broken at the sound of her soft giggles, muffling them in his neck as not to break out into full-on laughter and ruin the quiet moment. 

“I don’t ever want to hear his name come out of your mouth again.” 

“My little rescuer. Who knew?” His little killer. He would never dare say that aloud to her while she was still grappling with the guilt that came from taking someone’s life, no matter how scummy that person was. But it touched Alfie’s dark soul knowing that Evelyn would not only put herself in harm's way for him, but would also pull the trigger on someone who threatened their livelihood. 

As much as Alfie wanted to keep his wife away from the dirty side of his business, he couldn’t help but imagine her with a gun in her hand, pointed at his enemies with a chilling smirk pulled at her lips. He would keep that image close to his chest, but maybe when the time was right Alfie would teach her the ins and outs of the bakery. She would become more than just the boss's wife. Evelyn would have her own reputation, men cowering at her feet and kissing the ground she walked on. What a sight that would be.

Evelyn took her time standing back up on her shaky legs, feeling Alfie slip out of her followed by a rush of their climaxes. He helped her off, watching as she slipped her brassiere back onto her body. 

She motioned towards the ripped panties on the floor, lifting her eyebrow and quirking her hip. “You owe me a new pair.” 

“Luv, I’ll buy you an entire lace factory for getting Changretta out of my hair.” 

Alfie zipped himself back up as she leaned to pick up the coat slumped on the floor. Sticking the gun back in her grasp, she looked outside to see the moon high in the night sky, surrounded by stars that beckoned them into the future with soft winks. She had no idea how much time had passed since she arrived and saw her husband tense with pain, but she knew she was ready to go home. 

“We have to take care of the other guard,” she said, checking the number of bullets left in the chamber. Content with the amount of ammunition, Evelyn began walking to the door with anticipation of pulling the trigger again. The shock had worn off and adrenaline began running through her veins like a horse on a racetrack. 

“Luv.” She turned around at the term of endearment reserved only for her. 

“Come on, Alf.” She walked towards the heavy door and clicked the lock open, silently admiring the dent of the bullet that she had aimed at Scottie. It was the sickest of addictions, but she knew her husband would only encourage it from now on. When she didn’t hear her husband’s heavy footsteps behind her, she turned again. “What?” she asked, looking confused as to why he wasn’t following her. 

Alfie only smiled, glancing down at the legs of the chair.  
“Pass me the knife?” 

Evelyn’s face lit up with realization. He was still tied to the chair. She kicked the knife over to him, landing softly at his feet. “Hurry up,” she said, smiling and with hair tousled in a way that should be illegal. Her skin glowed with a newfound confidence in her abilities. She felt like more than just a woman. She was a bringer of death, marked by the power that only came from eliciting fear in her enemies. She finally got it, the appeal of the underworld. Her husband’s obsession would soon become her own. “We have to send those mobsters a message.” 

His killer. His protector. 

Together, they would rule the world.


End file.
